


Locked Out

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-31 04:00:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: Gavin has fucked up, and he's trying desperately not to let on to the rest of the crew that he is, in fact, locked out of one of the most lucrative and sought-after criminal bases in the city: Geoff's penthouse.





	Locked Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtrumCorvus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtrumCorvus/gifts).

Gavin clicks his tongue against his teeth as he rocks back on his heels, looking the penthouse door up and down. In his pockets, his fingers touch phone, wallet, car keys, Michael's spare car keys, and gum. His sunglasses are tucked neatly into the neck of his T-shirt, and he knows his back pockets are empty. 

Nowhere in there, amongst the lint and the alarming amount of sharp metal edges, are his penthouse keys. 

And with a quiet, sharp inhale, Gavin thinks back to two days ago, to the stupid outlet mall car park with apparently no security _or_ CCTV (he just wanted to pick up a present for Jeremy's birthday and nowhere else sells game merch just as weirdly niche as the outlet mall), and to the Faggio he drove there, and then, probably only a hour after he parked it, to how it seemingly became Harry bloody Houdini and did a vanishing act. And, well, _Gavin_can't exactly go to the _police_ about a stolen bike. Anyway, he figured, all the robber got was a motor scooter with a few unpaid parking tickets jammed into the storage case. 

A few unpaid parking tickets, and now, Gavin realises, his penthouse keys. Penthouse keys that he does _not_ have spares for. Penthouse keys that Geoff will rip him a new asshole for. 

_Ah_, Gavin thinks. _Bollocks_. 

\-- 

Half an hour later, Gavin's back in the same spot, except he's got his sunglasses on and his arms full of drinks and snacks and a couple of guns for cleaning, for good measure, both to restock the kitchen and hide the fact that he is currently locked out of the penthouse, and will be until he can track down his bike. 

"Oi!" He calls, banging his foot against the door. Someone shouts back and then there's shuffling on the other side before it opens, with Michael looking at Gavin, eyebrow raised. 

"Hello," Gavin says cheerfully, and Michael rolls his eyes with a laugh before letting him in. 

"You the only one in?" Gavin asks as he sets down stuff on the kitchen counter. Michael leans nonchalantly against the wall and pointedly doesn't help him, instead taking another sip of his soda. 

"Yeah," Michael replies, licking his lips. "Waiting for Jack to get back with my damn car." 

"Good thing you were," Gavin says. "Otherwise I'd be stuck out there with all this." 

"Eh, you'd survive," Michael grins. 

\-- 

"Whatcha doing?" 

Gavin startles at the words, his head snapping up to see Ryan leaning on the doorframe with a casual grin. 

"Nothing," he lies. Ryan's eyes dart to the screen. 

"Traffic cams?" He asks. "What're you looking for?" 

"My bike." 

Ryan laughs and crosses his arms. 

"Thought you didn't like that bike," he says, raising an eyebrow. 

"'S a matter of principle, innit," Gavin murmurs, turning back to the camera footage. "Can't just go around _stealing bikes_. It's not right." 

"Maybe the owner stole it back," Ryan points out. Gavin shoots him a glare. Ryan grins. 

"After five years? Give over, Ryan. Anyway, it was in broad bloody daylight, I doubt he could get away with it." 

Ryan laughs under his breath and Gavin turns back to clicking through cameras, trying to hide his increasing desperation when his bike doesn't show up on any of the roads around the outlet mall - must have happened earlier than he thought. His hand fumbles for his drink. 

"Didn't leave anything important in there, did you?" Ryan asks after a few moments, part teasing, part serious. Gavin almost chokes on his water. 

"No, of course not," he lies, barely holding back a cough. He struggles to swallow, and pointedly doesn't look at Ryan. 

"Okay then," Ryan says, and leaves. 

\-- 

"All right, so we're clear on the plan? We only need to take a few cars," Geoff says. "So don't go completely fucking crazy, yeah?" 

"Who's driving us there?" Michael asks, lazily raising a hand. 

"You'll drive yourselves, but make sure to keep your car in a safe space. We don't want another Gavin." 

"It was a crowded car park!" Gavin protests. "It _was_ safe!" 

"i can take you, Gavin," Jeremy says, cheeky grin and all. "Y'know, just in case. Don't want you to lose another shitty vehicle." He winks. Gavin crumples up his empty water cup and tosses it across the room - it bounces off of Jeremy's head and the entire room cracks up. 

They settle down enough for Geoff to detail the getaway from the LSPD car depot, complete with nonsense squiggles and wiggles on the map, and with plenty of jabs at Gavin for losing an _entire vehicle, I mean, how do you even _do _that? _\- _oh, I don't know, Ryan, how do you walk around being such an obnoxious bastard?_ \- and with the plan in place, they set the date and disperse. 

Before he leaves, Gavin makes sure to take his laptop from the office - he'd left it here last time, and hasn't managed to get into the penthouse for four days. Until today, when he'd parked on the street outside and waited to follow whoever got in first - Jack, as it happened, who just commented on Gavin being early for once and automatically took the lead on unlocking the door. A miracle in disguise, Gavin thought, because all his traffic cam footage was still on his damn office laptop. 

\-- 

Gavin spends the week before the heist coming up with increasingly more and more convoluted ways to get into the penthouse. The "arms-full" trick only worked once, he can't risk anyone spotting him routinely following people in, and he _definitely _can't let on that he's locked out. 

His latest trick was to parachute in and climb through a window. Somehow, he thinks that won't work a second time. 

Anyway, he finally found the traffic cam of his stolen bike two days ago, and he's been trying to follow it whenever he's got a spare few minutes between gearing up for the heist and trying to sneak his heist clothes out of the penthouse. 

"Aw, shit, I left the second ammo box upstairs," Michael groans, dropping his load of guns into the boot of his car. 

"We can get some on our way to the mechanic, can't we?" Gavin says, desperate to escape the building. He's got some clothes and some of his guns stashed in his backpack, and he's _really_ eager to get it all back to his flat before anyone can comment on the fact he's wearing a bag for once. 

"We already _have_ some, though," Michael replies, pushing a rocket launcher way into the back. When he stands up again, he gives Gavin a grin. "Can you get it?" 

Gavin flounders for a second, knowing that a protest would seem out of the blue, knowing that he can't go back upstairs - 

"Shove it up your arse," he blurts out instead, quickly opening the car door to put his bag inside. 

"C'mon, it's not far," Michael says, reaching in to move more guns around. "What, you lose your key or something?" 

"No," Gavin says, and doesn't really know how to follow up. "Don't be silly, Michael, it's a waste of time. Come on, I'll pay." 

Michael just shrugs. Gavin lets out a sigh of relief and gets in the car before Michael can ask for any more favours. 

\-- 

It's T minus one day to the heist and Gavin is currently riding a _very_ fast and _very_ stolen bike right up the bland desert motorway straight to Sandy Shores, where some prick has stored his original very fast and very stolen bike. It's not a laborious ride, but it is a long one, dodging cars and police and pedestrians as he races to catch the thief before they can move again. 

He slows once he sees the _Welcome to Sandy Shores!_ sign - or, at least, whatever's left of it. Graffitied and vandalised over the years, it's little more than a rusted plane of metal, rude words and gang numbers scribbled hastily over its corners in varying paint. But it's where Gavin's bike is, so he coasts into town on the little left in the tank and ditches the bike at a gas station two blocks from his target. 

As he approaches the empty warehouse, he subtly checks the guns in his waistband, furtively glancing around to make sure no one's watching him. There's no sniper glints in the higher windows, so he figures he's good for now. 

The door isn't even locked. It opens on rusted hinges. And there's absolutely bloody _nothing_ inside except for an array of astonishingly shit bikes. Although the closer Gavin looks, the more he realises _why_ they're astonishingly shit - they're being stripped for parts. The ones towards the back are nothing more than husks, but thankfully, his Faggio is still nice and new and gleaming - well, a bit shit and a few years old and dusty, but there's no visible parts missing. 

With a sigh of relief, Gavin strides towards it and immediately jimmies open the lockbox with his spare key. 

They haven't even _touched_ it yet. His keys are still there, and before he can waste any more time, and potentially get caught, he saddles up on the most uncomfy bike in the world and hightails it out of there, letting the doors creak shut behind him. 

Distantly, he knows that if the thief is desperate, they could also track him down with traffic cameras, but that's a problem for future-Gavin. 

\-- 

Gavin manages to tear into Los Santos just in time for the heist - he quickly stops at home to change, swap vehicles, and races down to the penthouse with only one red light run. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he has no doubt it's Geoff, or maybe bastard Ryan, asking him where to pick him up - or Jeremy, making a little jab about borrowing an SUV to pick him up from school. Either way, he doesn't check it, because he skids triumphantly into the garage with five minutes to spare before the crew leave for the heist. 

The lift up is tortuously slow, but Gavin's too excited by stealing his bike back _and_ getting his keys without the crew noticing they were ever gone to be frustrated. He just needs to pop in and meet up with them before they all head out to their various vehicles, and probably pick up some ammo while he's at it. 

His keys are a familiar weight in his palm when he takes them out to unlock the door - except when he pushes it open, it's completely dark inside. He squints into the black - did they leave early? - and is about to check what his text message actually was when the lights suddenly flip on, so bright he flings a hand over his eyes to shield them. 

"Surprise!" Choruses from the kitchen, and Gavin blinks his way past brightness to see the crew gathered around in their heist clothes, with a plate of cookies and a tray of glasses on the counter. On a godawfully ugly banner hung across the kitchen reads _Welcome Home, Gavin!_

"What the absolute - " Gavin starts. 

"Hey, you found your keys!" Michael says as Gavin walks into the kitchen area, bewildered. 

"Congratulations, Gavin," Geoff adds, thumping him on the back. 

"Wha - Hold on," Gavin murmurs, while the crew pass out drinks and cookies among themselves - Jeremy offers him a glass and Gavin numbly takes it, surrounded by fond laughter. 

"You _knew_?!" Gavin manages to splutter out, turning to look at them all. 

"Well yeah, it was fucking obvious," Ryan says, casually sipping his drink. "We just wanted to see how long you'd keep it up." 

"You _arseholes_!" Gavin near-shrieks, but he's smiling despite himself. Jack cracks open a bottle of soda to pour into glasses, and Michael gets an ice cube tray out of the freezer. 

"Okay, don't take too long, we've got a heist to get to," Geoff warns, and Jeremy clinks his glass to Gavin's. 

Gavin slides his glass across the table so Michael can put an ice cube in it - Michael obliges with a fond roll of his eyes and pushes it back, and just as Gavin's about to take a sip - 

"What in the bloody _f_ \- " 

"Okay, time to go!" Michael calls, cutting Gavin off while he's staring into his glass. He looks back up at Michael, at the rest of the crew, all of them now broken up into rowdy laughter. 

He looks back at the glass. At Michael. Glass. Michael. 

Glass. 

There, floating boldly in the middle of his soda, is a single ice cube. And frozen inside it are car keys. 

As the cube slowly rotates, the sharp B in _Blista_ becomes visible. 

_Ah_, he thinks. _Bollocks_. 


End file.
